


if it's the last thing we do

by screamlet



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 04:05:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10711827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamlet/pseuds/screamlet
Summary: “I have a favor to ask,” said the Commissioner. “In line with the other favors I’ve asked you. You know how this works. I give you a problem, and you make my problem disappear.”Alex nodded.“You will make my problem disappear,” the Commissioner repeated.“Yes, I will."+Alex and Sid and the secrets they keep.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babygotbackstrom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babygotbackstrom/gifts).



> \+ this is a SUPER villainous fictional portrayal of a fictional NHL commissioner, which is why he's just known as The Commissioner. because it is SUPER FICTIONAL.  
> \+ really, REALLY loosely inspired by [Mr. and Mrs. Smith](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0356910/) in that i cherrypicked from the wikipedia summary to fit our "spies and assassins" theme.

The rest of the NHL dreaded the Commissioner’s arrival with the seasons. In the winter, he led the annual owners’ meeting in finding new ways to fuck players’ association and the players themselves. In the spring, one lucky captain would hobble towards the Stanley Cup and take it in their hands, but first they had to shake hands with the Commissioner and meet his eyes. A captain couldn’t exactly say what was so off-putting about the Commissioner’s stare and his smile, but it was such an insignificant blip in the face of picking up the cup that they shrugged it off immediately. 

Alex couldn’t shrug off the Commissioner, no matter where reports had the Commissioner spending his time. If he was in Vegas checking out the new arena, if he was vacationing somewhere Alex couldn’t find on a map, if he was making deals anywhere on earth—it didn’t matter. If he wanted to find Alex, he would find Alex.

Like he did now on their free evening after a Panthers game in Florida, when Alex was in the VIP bar of a club in Miami Beach and the Commissioner was supposed to be tending to the CBC’s ego in Ottawa. 

“Sasha,” said the Commissioner. “Isn’t it funny how we always manage to run in the same circles like this?”

“Don’t call me Sasha,” Alex said.

The Commissioner laughed and rested a hand on the back of Alex’s neck. Alex pushed him off immediately; the Commissioner never stopped smiling. 

“Let’s talk for a second, huh?” said the Commissioner. “There’s an even more exclusive VIP room back here. Nice and quiet so we can talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Oh, I know. I know you don’t, and I’m sorry I have to interrupt your night and ask you for this favor, but I do need your help, Sasha. Help me out, all right? It’ll only be a minute of your time.” 

Alex couldn’t refuse. He knew he could talk as much as he wanted because, in the end, he couldn’t refuse. He could pretend to resist, but they both knew it was pretend. Alex finished off his drink and stuffed his hands in his pockets, allowing the Commissioner to lead the way. 

“You’re so good to humor me,” said the Commissioner. “It won’t take more than a moment.”

It was only the two of them, Alex and the Commissioner, but Alex knew that this old wealthy man, looking like someone’s terribly out of place father next to Alex in his most ragged club wear, had people with guns watching over him. Alex couldn’t afford to be stupid, and he couldn’t afford to run. He could sign as many contracts as he wanted, but he could never afford to run.

In the back room (quieter and admittedly more plush than where Alex had been before), the Commissioner took a seat and motioned to the one in front of him for Alex. Someone came over with a drink for the Commissioner and another drink for Alex, likely the same vodka he had been drinking in the other room (or better). They toasted and Alex took a sip out of politeness, then left his glass untouched. 

There was another man in the corner, in Alex’s line of vision, watching the two of them. Alex hated when he was right. 

“I have a favor to ask,” said the Commissioner. “In line with the other favors I’ve asked you. You know how this works. I give you a problem, and you make my problem disappear.” 

Alex nodded. 

“You will make my problem disappear,” the Commissioner repeated.

“Yes, I will,” Alex said. He had no choice. In 2005, Dynamo wouldn’t have let him come to Washington if the Commissioner hadn’t made Alex’s problems disappear. How could Alex not return a favor? 

How could he refuse the Commissioner now? He had already made too many of the Commissioner’s problems disappear. 

This was a distraction. It was all a distraction in Alex’s head to stop himself from leaving the room, the country, the planet immediately, just so he wouldn’t have to hear the name. He still breathe as long as he didn’t hear the name. 

“Evgeni Malkin.”

Tears instantly came to Alex’s eyes. Somewhere beneath his ribs, he could feel a pain like his lungs were trying to shrivel inside him and somehow stop him from doing this.

“He’s my best friend,” Alex managed. “He—please. Please don’t—”

“Alex, I know he’s your best friend,” said the Commissioner. “Haven’t I only ever asked you to take care of problems? People who deserved it, Alex.”

Alex nodded. It was true. It was true that the others deserved it, as much as anyone did. They were all going to die; what did _when_ matter? What did _deserve_ matter?

“I know he’s your best friend,” repeated the Commissioner. “I don’t want to hurt you, Alex, and I know this hurts you. I can see how much it hurts. Do you want me to tell you what he did to make me ask you this? Or do you want to remember your best friend as he is now, as your best friend who would never hurt you?”

Alex said nothing. Tears ran down his cheeks and he couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck about how it looked to weep openly in front of the most powerful person in his world. He focused and tried to will himself to stop from shaking in front of the Commissioner. 

“Thank you, Sasha,” said the Commissioner as he rose from his seat. “I’ll know when it’s done.”

He stayed completely still until he knew the Commissioner had left the back room, and then Alex put his elbows up on the table and rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes. He stayed there until a waiter tapped his shoulder and whispered that there was a car outside to take him to his hotel. He nodded and left the table, his drink still untouched. 

*

Only two things could drag Sid to downtown Pittsburgh: his job and his sister. Taylor had dragged him into a boutique so she could try on dresses for the endless weddings she had been invited to that summer, and who better than Sid to make helpful comments like “it’s purple” and “that’s short.” 

He didn’t want to know how the Commissioner had found him as Taylor left to change from Dress #6 back into Dress #4. 

“Funny running into you here,” said the Commissioner. “My niece recommended this place and I thought, wouldn’t it be funny if I ran into Sidney Crosby here?”

“Here? In Pittsburgh? Where I live?” Sid asked, knowing full well that he would never actually admit to living in Pittsburgh, because he _didn’t_ live in fucking Pittsburgh. The Commissioner laughed and Sid stood up from the elegantly uncomfortable armchair Taylor had thrown him into an hour earlier. “So where’s your niece?”

“Why, Sid? You interested?” 

“You know I’m not.”

The Commissioner smiled. “I know you’re not.” The Commissioner smiled a little wider and motioned over his shoulder. “She’s off picking things to look at. Can we step into the back office and talk?”

“I guess we should, shouldn’t we?” Sid cleared his throat and took a few steps towards the assistant, who had stepped back out after bringing Taylor dresses and helping her in the dressing room. “If you could let my sister know—”

“Don’t worry, she’s in good hands,” said the assistant. 

Funny, that was exactly what Sid didn’t want to hear. 

In the back room, something like the store manager’s office, there were two seats: one for the Commissioner and one for Sid, who motioned to the one across from him like he owned the place. Maybe he did, what the fuck did Sid know?

“So,” Sid said. “Who am I murdering for you this time?”

“Oh, Sid,” said the Commissioner. “Sid, I know you like to pretend you’re a straight-shooting, no-nonsense kind of man, but we both know you’re not. You’re not any of those things. Have I been anything but courteous to you today? In any of our meetings? Have I ever _not_ kept my side of any of our bargains?” The Commissioner leaned in across the desk. “How much shit can your face actually endorse? How many of those cups do you think you actually deserved? How many of your hookups are _that_ trustworthy? Just how fucking lucky do you think you are?”

Sid was a coward and he didn’t want the answer to that. 

“I have a problem, Sid,” said the Commissioner. “I give you a problem, and you make my problem disappear.” 

“Yes,” Sid said. 

How could he refuse the Commissioner? How could he tank his entire professional life for the chance to become the most popular minor league coach in Nova Scotia when he was _Sidney fucking Crosby_? Sidney Crosby was a liar and a murderer and a cheater and a fraud, but at least he wasn’t the piece of shit who was never good enough to leave home. 

He left home. He fucking _left_. He wasn’t going back. 

“Nicklas Backstrom.”

Sid tilted his head. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Yeah, I did, and I don’t—Backstrom? He doesn’t step a toe out of line unless it’s to slash my wrists or kill someone for Ovi—”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Sid,” said the Commissioner. “We’re not here because I’m interested in your extremely useless opinion of Nicklas Backstrom. We’re here because you’re a closer, you get things done. So get this done.”

“I’m just saying,” Sid said. “It doesn’t—”

“Have a good day, Sid,” said the Commissioner. “I’ll know when it’s done.”

Sid heard the Commissioner leave, but he was still puzzling over his new assignment. His previous ones had been—well, deeply fucking unpleasant, but understandable, reasonable. Sid was decently well-read, he had been able to piece together stories to make the Commissioner’s requests more palatable. Backstrom, though?

Distantly, he heard Taylor’s voice elsewhere in the store. He left the back office and wandered back to his uncomfortable luxury armchair, the smiling assistant, and his sister furrowing her eyebrows at him. 

“Sorry,” Sid said. “I had to take a call.”

“I didn’t know your iPhone made calls,” Taylor said. “And I know you’re full of shit because the Commissioner of the NHL just said hello to me and that you’d be out in a minute. What’s he doing in Pittsburgh, Sid?”

“Kid, I don’t know,” Sid sighed. “Come on, is that the dress? It’s way too short for a wedding. Don’t dresses have to be like, below the knee?”

“Yeah, if I’m going to a wedding in the 1940s and I’m _not_ ,” Taylor scoffed. “Does the pattern work or are these flowers too Georgia O’Keeffe?”

“I… don’t know who that is,” Sid said.

“Oh my god, never mind. I’m switching to jumpsuits next.”

“Jumpsuits! Those are respectable!”

“Don’t be such a dad, we already have one and you’re a lot more fun.” 

Sid took his seat again and thought about their game in Washington next week, the first of two times they’d play them in the next ten days. First the Pens would go to Washington, then the Caps would come to Pittsburgh. He didn’t think he could move that fast on Backstrom, but they were two good opportunities to talk to someone on the Caps and dig a little deeper into what he had to do. 


	2. Chapter 2

Alex should have been more surprised to see Sidney Crosby in one of the spare offices in the bowels of the Verizon Center, but he wasn’t. There was no reason for Sidney Crosby to know the Verizon Center as well as he did, but he did anyway. Alex was sitting on an old couch in this spare office of the Verizon Center and when Sidney Crosby walked in, they smiled at each other. 

“Hey,” Sid said as he closed and locked the door behind him. “Were you waiting long?”

“No, no press for me,” Alex said. “Boys were more exciting than me tonight, so they take the questions and let me go.” 

“Same, for once,” Sid said.

“You gonna stand by the door all night or sit here with me?”

“Thought you’d be mad at me,” Sid said.

“What? Because of slashes? The day you don’t try to kill me getting the puck, I know you’re going easy on me and pitying me. Then maybe I check you and flip you into space.”

“Oh, okay,” Sid said. “I’ll keep that in mind. The flipping into space thing. You and Orlov _love_ that shit. Geno, too.” 

Alex knew he flinched at the mention of Zhenya, but his very good, very sharp hockey eyes couldn’t figure out why Sid did, too. 

“Pretend I came up with a really funny Russian joke,” Alex said. “Come, come here. You act like we have all night before people come looking for us.” 

_People_ would be Zhenya, who was always so protective of Sid even when Sid was with Alex. _People_ would be Nicky, who would never trust Sidney Crosby as far as he could throw him, and at the rate Nicky was lifting, that was probably pretty fucking far. 

Sid finally left the door to sit next to Alex. He hesitated, then inched closer, pressing into the arm Alex wrapped around his shoulders, their thighs pressed along the length of each other. Alex threw a leg over Sid’s lap to make Sid laugh, then reached for the second chain on Sid’s neck, the thicker one he had taken to wearing a few months earlier. Alex pulled it out from under Sid’s shirt, the gold chain with the single gold ring.

“Missed you,” Alex said. He closed his eyes and brought the ring and the chain to his lips. “Missed this.” He looked at Sid and kissed the ring again. He didn’t miss the way Sid let out a breath, the way his throat moved when he swallowed. 

“Like you don’t have enough chains,” he said. 

“They’re always with me,” Alex said. He brought his hands up to cup Sid’s face, his thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. He was so much sharper here than Alex himself, or Nicky, though why—why he had to think of Nicky now was beyond him, Nicky was off doing press and Sid was here, _right here_. Sid’s pulse was quickening under Alex’s hands as Sid tipped his head back and bared his neck for Alex. “Of course I miss you. You always leave me.”

“I can’t _always leave you_ if I never stay,” Sid said.

Alex leaned in and kissed his cheek, lingering there so he could feel Sid tense in his hands. “Fuck your semantics, Sid.” 

“Yeah,” Sid said. “Yeah, yes, fuck me, fuck my semantics, please.” Alex laughed, only for a second before Sid kissed him. Sid’s hands gripped Alex’s waist and pulled him down on the couch, the two of them laughing and arranging themselves and trying (failing) not to break the kiss. “Fuck, I wish we weren’t going to Jersey tonight, _fuck_ , who do I have to blow to get a night with you in this swamp town?” Sid broke the kiss so they could push off the loose, oversized shorts they wore before changing back into their suits and so Sid could wrap his legs around Alex’s hips. “It’s obviously not you. Never get _anything_ from sucking your dick.”

“Except sucking dick, and you love that.” Alex kissed him again and reached between them to wrap a hand around Sid’s dick. “Not tonight, New Jersey wants you too much.” 

“And you don’t? Fuck you,” Sid laughed. 

“You want me too much. All I do is touch you and—” Alex reached for Sid’s chain again, gripping the ring in one fist as he teased the slit with his other hand. He spread the slick along Sid’s length and kissed his moans quiet. “You do this at home? Grab your chain, slick up your hand, think of me?”

Alex grinned to himself because Sid was biting his lips to keep quiet. He shifted his hips up into Alex’s, trying to bring Alex’s weight down on his cock. Hands were never enough for Sid, not when they had the luxury of space and he had Alex over him. Sid tried to urge Alex down the way he liked it—Alex’s heavy body against Sid’s, pressing close against him, crushing him, Sid rubbing off against Alex’s stomach. 

“I don’t tease myself, that’s for fucking sure,” Sid managed to say. Alex brought his hips in against Sid’s and brought his hand to Sid’s lips to shut Sid up and make him lick himself from Alex’s fingers. Watching Sid suck at his fingers, almost as eager as if it had been Alex’s cock, as Sid rubbed off against Alex’s hips—neither of them lasted much longer. Sid moaned around Alex’s fingers as he came, the come sticky between their stomachs. Alex twisted the chain a little harder in his fist as he thrust into the warmth between him and Sid, finally coming with his fingers still in Sid’s mouth. 

“You’re right,” Alex gasped. “Fuck someone else in the scheduling office. This isn’t enough.”

Sid was still beneath Alex, breathing hard and biting his lip to hide it. “It’s not?”

“No.” Alex kissed him, a gentler thing as he let go of the chain, though the ring was still warm in his palm. “Need more nights in my home, in my bed, not some shitty couch here.” Alex kissed him again, but Sid wasn’t—he didn’t kiss him back as eagerly. “What? Oh. Sorry. Maybe too much.”

“No, no,” Sid said. “I just—I didn’t know. I didn’t know you wanted me in more than a shitty back room.”

Alex stared at him and held the ring up. “What you think this is?” 

“I mean, I know Backstrom has one, too. I figured you gave everyone jewelry. How can your whole team independently be so tacky? I thought you were the source.”

Alex stroked Sid’s cheek and kissed him again. “You tell good jokes. It’s why I like you.”

There was a soft knock at the door. Sid almost bucked Alex off his hips, but Alex held his shoulders down and listened. 

“Sasha,” called Nicky’s soft voice. “Bus is leaving soon and there’s a big Russian penguin who wants to go sleep.” 

“Fuck,” Sid groaned. “ _Fuck_ , how did they get everything packed so fast?”

“You talk too much,” Alex said as he took off his shirt and wiped off his stomach. “Here, clean up while I let Nicky inside.”

“What?” Sid shrieked. “You—Alex, don’t—”

Alex put a hand on the doorknob. “I trust him with my life. You should, too. It’s _Nicky_ , Sid.”

It was the second time in a week someone was trying to break his heart; this time it was Sid, cleaning himself up and staring at Alex with a pure terror. It was heart-rending thing, something Alex had seen too many times in his life, but never with Sid, never like this.

“Please don’t,” Sid whispered. “Please, I—he can’t know, okay?”

“Sid—”

“No one can know,” Sid hissed. “I haven’t even told Geno about us, so just go, okay? Take Nick back to your locker room or whatever and I’ll—I’ll think of something.”

Alex stared at Sid for a long moment, but there was another soft knock at the door, Nicky’s knock. “Okay,” Alex whispered. “I’ll leave you here and take him away. Get out quick.”

“I will,” Sid said. 

His eyes lingered on Sid until he couldn’t take Sid’s scared eyes anymore. Alex opened the door just barely enough to slip out and close it firmly behind him. 

There was Nicky, holding a shirt and a pair of pants in his hands. Alex nodded and took them, opened the door again and threw them through the narrow crack before he pulled it shut tight again. He looked at Nicky and reached for him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Nicky did the same, his warm arm on Alex’s bare skin. He didn’t have to ask why Alex was shirtless in a back office of the Verizon Center. 

“You want dinner?” Nicky asked. 

“No, but I’ll eat it,” Alex said. “You love me, Nicky?”

“I love you, Sasha.” 

“How come?”

“I don’t know. I just do. I know it. You love me, Sasha?”

“I love you, Nicky. I’m sorry I—”

“We said it was okay, didn’t we? Stop apologizing. I know you don’t love me less. We talked, we agreed, and I love you the same.”

Zhenya was around the corner, as Nicky promised. He looked at the two of them and raised his eyebrows. “Someone die?”

“Shut up,” Alex said.

“What you do with Sid?”

“Who said I did anything with Sid?”

Zhenya made a face.

“He doesn’t want you to know,” Alex said.

“He doesn’t have to know I know,” Zhenya grumbled. “Just tell him to think of better excuses.” Zhenya glanced down at the two duffel bags at his feet and kicked one of them. “And take his bag with him, the one with his clothes.” 

“Have a good game in Jersey,” Nicky said. 

“Yeah, good game,” Alex muttered.

“What the fuck,” Zhenya said. “Where’s my hug? Your best friend since Russia and you send me to New Jersey without a hug? You hug _Sid_ more than _me_?”

“Shut up,” Alex said as Zhenya pulled him into a hug. Alex was losing track of how many times his heart could break tonight. 

“Have a shitty game,” Alex added. “Drop a few spots in the standings, let Jersey feel something good for once.”

“Getting soft, old man,” Zhenya said in Russian, laughing. 

Alex clapped him hard on the back and let him go. He led Nicky away to the locker room, the better to avoid Sid once he finally snuck out to the team bus. 

*

Sid met Alex again in Pittsburgh when the Capitals visited a few days later. Whatever developed between him and Alex, it never affected the pace and the intensity of their game. As soon as they stepped on the ice, a switch flicked and there was nothing, just Alex on the fringe of the faceoff circle and Nick Backstrom in his face, staring at him like he wanted to wear his fucking skin. 

That was consistent, too; that hadn’t changed since Backstrom had come to Washington, since Alex and “Nicky” had gotten together years ago, since Alex and Sid had started up their thing with what Alex told him was Backstrom’s blessing. 

Sid won the faceoff and did his best to knock Backstrom off his feet, _Nicky_ whose name Alex could only utter like a prayer and whose deceptive soft blondness hid the fact that he was built like a fucking steamroller with intent to kill.

It was pretty ironic, considering Sid was the one who had to kill him. It couldn’t be a hockey accident because those rarely killed anyone. It couldn’t be a car accident because Backstrom and Alex lived together and used each other’s cars constantly; there was no way to guarantee his mark. Backstrom rarely drank, rarely fucked around on Alex, rarely did anything but play fucking hockey and fuck Sid’s boyfriend, and—

—that fucking asshole just scored first. _Fuck_. Sid skated back to the bench and watched Alex rush at Nicky and the rest of their line, their group hug incomplete until Alex zoomed in and closed the circle, patting each of their helmets and touching Nicky’s face with his glove. The screens above the ice showed their stupid fucking visors pressed against each other. How was Sid going to rob Alex of the person who made him smile like that every day? 

Geno’s shift was over before Sid realized it, when Geno shoved a bunch of their team aside so he could take up a mountain of space next to Sid. 

“You let Backy fake you out?”

“He’s gotten better at that.”

“You look distracted.”

“So I was distracted for one shift of one hockey game, G, get off my dick.” 

“Oh okay, _just_ distracted, _just_ one shift, I understand, nothing to do with Backy. Nothing to do with the Caps.”

Sid said nothing. His shift was coming up again and the Caps hadn’t brought their lackluster D-pairings back to the bench yet. “You can talk to me about fucking up when you actually score tonight,” Sid said. He climbed over the boards, more focused than before with a shitty pit in his stomach that he knew he couldn’t skate away. 

Some three exhausting hours later, a round of press later, a shower later, a sincere and private apology to Geno later, Sid found Backstrom outside their locker room. He was the only other person, besides Sid himself, who didn’t feel the need to play obsessively on his phone while waiting for something, content to people-watch and focus on the shit around him. 

Of course, that meant his laser eyes fixed on Sid as soon as he stepped out of the locker room. 

“We’re staying the night, flying back in the morning,” Nicky said as he reached for Sid’s hand, a genial little handshake that let Nicky palm him a room card to a different downtown hotel in Pittsburgh. “He’ll enjoy seeing his cousin Lev again.”

Sid considered shoving the key back at Backstrom and telling him to fuck off, that he didn’t know who or what he was talking about, that he had no right to go around and _hit on him_ , for himself or for Alex Ovechkin or anyone else. The part of Sid that fucked men in bathrooms and closets and back offices and three-star hotels in Pittsburgh—that part wanted to rip open Nick Backstrom and bury him alive and spit on the grave before wandering the earth looking for someone else who wouldn’t do what Backstrom had done. Who the fuck was Nick Backstrom to fucking presume he knew Sid and what Sid wanted? That Sid would ever welcome Nick Backstrom’s _help_ in feeding the part of him that starved for Alex like Sid had never eaten before?

Instead, Sid took the key, dropped Backstrom’s hand, and left. Sid still didn’t know what Nick Backstrom had done to piss off the Commissioner, but he was starting to discover that he didn’t actually care.

*

Maybe Zhenya was right, Alex thought. Maybe he was getting old and soft. He was in a hotel in Pittsburgh with Sidney Crosby dozing on his chest, exhausted from their game earlier and fucked out, but all Alex could think about were Sid’s eyes when he arrived at the room earlier. No talking, no fun, none of what made Sidney Crosby Alex’s _Sid_. Instead Sid had barged in, shut the door, and fucked Alex for all he was worth. As good as it was, there was a desperation in Sid that worried him, and that was why Alex was a soft old man who couldn’t just _enjoy_ rabid empty sex when it meant there might be something wrong with Sid. 

Maybe it was Nicky. It was a risk, sending Nicky to Sid instead of going himself, but they couldn’t trust anyone else on either of their teams. Nicky and Sid had butted heads enough during the game that it made sense for the two of them to meet up for a quick _haha see it’s just a game_ handshake for the ever-watchful press. 

Now Sid was here, stirring again, lifting his head a little to look at Alex.

“Sleep nice?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, sorry.” Sid rubbed a hand along his face and stifled a yawn. “Needed it today. Didn’t mean to fuck and run. I mean, fuck and pass out, I guess.”

“Didn’t run yet.”

“No. No, not yet.” Sid put his head down on Alex’s chest again. Alex kept his hand steady on Sid’s back, trying to ignore how Sid was tensing all over again as he woke up. “What are you and Backy doing next weekend?”

“...me and Nicky?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing special. Practice and game on Friday, free on Saturday, game Sunday night. You?”

“We’ve got an early afternoon game, starts at 12, believe it or not,” Sid said. “Why don’t you guys drive up Saturday, stay at my house and watch the game on tv, then I’ll bring Geno back with me and the four of us can just… hang out. And you guys can sleep over and drive back early the next morning.”

“Hang out,” Alex said.

“Yeah. Hang out. We never get to just hang out. One of us always bails from the All-Star Game, we’re always going home to Russia and Canada and Sweden for the summer.” Sid looked up again at Alex and smirked a little. “Have you ever actually been to my house?”

“No,” Alex said. “Now that you say it.” Alex sighed loudly and wrapped his arms tighter around Sid. “I’ll talk to Nicky. He might say yes.”

“I’ll talk to Geno. He’s always saying I should have more people over, pretend like my house is actually a house that can welcome people, so this should get him off my back for a while.”

“Yes, it’s good advice from Zhenya,” Alex said. “He’s always remembering things like that, like how to be a person.”

Alex stroked his fingers down Sid’s back and felt his heart sink. He could see it now, what he would do: Zhenya said Sid’s house had both a pool and a hot tub outdoors, like most of the big houses in Sewickley. Nicky would be in Sid’s kitchen, fixing a salad or drinks or something while Sid grilled or fussed over side dishes. They were near the end of a too-warm winter, but it would be chilly enough for the hot tub. Alex and Zhenya would brag about Nicky and Sid running around fixing food for the two of them as they lazed about in the hot tub, drinking beers and laughing. Alex would put his arm around Zhenya’s shoulder and tug him down into the water, under the surface. Zhenya would think it was a joke and try to push Alex away, but Alex could already hear the way he would snap Zhenya’s neck. Zhenya would go limp in the water and Alex would pull him back up, yelling, panicking, calling for Nicky and Sid. He didn’t understand, they were just playing around and Zhenya’s head must have hit something as they wrestled around at the bottom of the tub with all its seats around the edges. If his story didn’t work, it didn’t matter; that was on the Commissioner to make it work. Alex just had to do his job.

“Good idea, Sid,” Alex said. “You talk to Zhenya, I’ll talk to Nicky, we have a nice weekend together.” 

“Good,” Sid said. He dropped a kiss on Alex’s chest and cuddled closer, the muscles in his back relaxing again under Alex’s hand. Alex moved his hand to rest in Sid’s hair, damp and curling and nothing like Nicky’s, but still so good. He closed his eyes and tried not to wonder when he would actually sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Sid’s plan for Sid’s Weekend Friendcation/Nick Backstrom’s Accidental Death was going off without a hitch. For one, Backstrom—Nick? He should call him Nick, so Nick felt comfortable and welcomed in Sid’s home before he died. Anyway, for one, Nick had agreed to come, and Alex had even said that Nick was looking forward to it. For another, Geno had agreed to come, because Sid had only hosted one party in his new house and it had been like two years ago and Geno wanted to see if he had gotten any better at it. Also, Geno and Alex were friends, fine. 

Sid and Geno saw Alex’s texts during first intermission. Alex and Nick had left their sleepy Arlington suburb at about 7:30 that morning, hit some traffic cutting through Pennsylvania, but were now at Sid’s house and settling in to watch the rest of the game and raid Sid’s fridge for lunch. Perfect. Sid let Geno handle the texting back, something fun and adorable and Geno that Sid was physically incapable of almost any day, never mind on a day when he had to commit an extremely premeditated murder on his boyfriend’s husband/partner/MurderSwede/whatever.

The Pens won and Sid and Geno raced to Sid’s house. Geno, with his beautiful lack of self-preservation, zoomed by Sid’s car on the road. By the time Sid arrived, Geno was already in Sid’s yard, drinking Sid’s beer, swim trunks on as he and Alex figured out how to fire up the hot tub. 

Sid caught Nick’s eye across the patio. He had asked Alex how much beer and liquor he should have on hand for the weekend, since he knew that Alex and Geno put booze away like their legs were hollow, but he didn’t know about Nick. Apparently, Nick only drank when he was happy. “If he even thinks of frowning,” Alex had told him, “He’ll stop right away, because he doesn’t want it to bring him down.”

Sid watched Nicky, who was drinking a beer and laughing at Geno and Alex fuss with the hot tub. Nick left his patio seat to stand behind them near the tub and criticize everything they were doing. He threw back whatever was left of his beer and discreetly let the empty bottle hang between his fingertips, his attention focused on Alex and Geno.

“Let me get you another one,” Sid said. “Anyone else need another drink?”

“Just me,” Nicky said. “Alex opened another one when your car pulled into the driveway.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need another,” Sid laughed. “It’s okay, I’ll just get a couple for us.”

Nicklas Backstrom, the man whose face could curdle milk, smiled at Sid. 

Nick smiled at him and he _nodded_ , and turned back to the hot tub shenanigans. It was going to be really, really easy to get Nick through this second beer and hand him his poisoned third. 

*

Alex’s plan for Sid’s Weekend Friendcation/Alex Murders His Best Friend was going terribly because Zhenya was a beast and put up a fight. 

Under the bubbling water of the hot tub, Alex’s hands touched Zhenya’s jaw, gently cupping him like he did Sid, like he did to Nicky, with one fatal twist. It would happen in a moment, any moment, as soon as Alex could bring himself to just fucking _do it_.

And then Zhenya threw off Alex’s hands, pushed out of the water, and stood up in the hot tub. Alex came out of the water but stayed down, crouching on a seat in the tub as Zhenya loomed over Alex like the tallest giant that had ever lived.

“The fuck is wrong with you!” Zhenya yelled in Russian. “Not enough to marry Nicky, to fuck Sid, now you want to use me, too? Didn’t want me before, Sasha, but now you have two, you want more! You always want more, always want only what you can’t have!”

The patio door opened and Sid rushed out. “Geno? What’s going on? Is everything—”

Nicky rushed out of the house and smashed a beer bottle on the stone floor of the patio. “What the fuck did you just give me to drink?” He stood for another moment, then kneeled on the stone patio, grasping the edges of the pool. 

Sid turned to Nicky, but it wasn’t the embarrassed face of someone whose beer had gone a little off; Sid looked wild around the eyes, the way Alex felt now. He was taking steps towards Nicky, the way Alex had been creeping towards a distracted Zhenya, the better to push him over and crack his head on the hot tub, the stone floor, the edge of the pool, anything to get the Commissioner off his back. 

The Commissioner. Sid. Sid’s biggest secret. 

Alex climbed out of the tub and threw himself at Sid, narrowly avoiding the broken glass by their feet. He tackled Sid to the floor and held him down. 

“The Commissioner,” Alex whispered. “You—the two of us—”

Sid looked panicked now, and scared, but not murderous. “I put something in Nick’s drink,” Sid gasped. “I don’t know how much he drank but—let me up, I have something, I have to help him—”

“What? What did you do to Nicky?” Alex asked, but Sid pushed him away and rushed back inside. Alex looked over his shoulder and saw Nicky hunched over, Zhenya rubbing his back as Nicky tried to force himself to vomit. Alex rushed over and pulled Nicky into his arms.

“What’s happening, Alex?” Nicky asked him.

“We did bad things,” Alex said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He looked over at Zhenya and shook his head. “I’m so sorry.” 

“You were going to do it,” Zhenya said. “You wanted to hurt me.”

“I never wanted to, I swear,” Alex pleaded. “I had to but I never, not for a second—”

Sid rushed back out with a small bottle. He pushed his way into the three of them and grabbed Nicky’s chin to open his mouth. Nicky slapped him away until Alex stopped him. “He’s helping,” Alex whispered. “Please let him help.”

“You should hope he does,” Nicky said as he opened his mouth for whatever Sid poured out of the bottle.

Once Nicky had finished drinking, he let out a sigh of relief and slumped into Alex’s arms. Sid threw the empty bottle into some shrubs and stood up. “Come on, we have to get inside and we have to leave.”

Zhenya took Sid roughly by the arm. “No. You tell me what the _fuck_ —”

“We have to get inside,” Sid pleaded. “We have to leave _now_. Get Nick to the car while I pack.”

“He’s right,” Alex interrupted. “Zhenya, help me carry Nicky to our car, we put him in the back.” 

“I want to go home,” Nicky moaned.

“Soon, soon,” Alex murmured as he stood and pulled Nicky up to his feet. He quickly pressed a kiss to Nicky’s hair as Zhenya rushed over and scooped up Nicky’s legs. 

“Sasha’s car,” Zhenya said to Sid. “Two minutes.”

Sid nodded and rushed back into the house, leaving Alex and Zhenya to carry Nicky’s half-awake body to Alex’s massive SUV. 

*

For the next thirty minutes, Geno drove the four of them into Ohio and did most of the screaming.

“THE TWO OF YOU ARE MURDERERS,” Geno yelled. “Murdering people! For years? FOR YEARS! Since you came to America, both of you, _for years_.”

“Technically,” Sid said. “I went to high school in America for—”

“SHUT UP,” Geno said. “What’s your fucking excuse, Sasha?”

“Russia wanted millions of dollars to allow me come to Washington until suddenly they didn’t anymore,” Alex said. “The Commissioner did me a favor and I got to come here and play for Washington. When he asked, I couldn’t say no.”

“Listen, little Moscow rich boy, face of Coca-Cola at _Sochi_ spoiled piece of shit,” Geno said. “What the fuck makes you think _oh, all my problems are over, IF I MURDER SOMEONE_.” 

“No _you_ listen, you don’t—”

Geno unleashed a torrent of Russian at Alex where the only words Sid understood were “FUCKING FINLAND” and “ABETTING AND ABETTING, LIKE ON FUCKING LAW AND ORDER.” 

“And you!” Geno yelled at Sid. “What the _fuck_ is your excuse?”

“The Commissioner was going to out me,” Sid said.

“...to who? To your big rival, Sasha, who already sucks your dick? To his husband, who _lets you_? To me, who brought you clothes because I knew Sasha would wipe you off with a t-shirt and leave both of you shirtless because he thinks he’s hot shit and HE IS NOT? Because he hasn’t changed since we were eighteen and spent every night at World Juniors eating McDonald’s and fucking each other? I don’t give a shit if you’re _GAY, SID_.”

“I know you don’t care, but Canada cares!” Sid yelled back. “My family cares, my _dad_ cares, my fucking endorsements care—”

“And yes, I see, all those people who want you to never suck a dick are worth more than the people you murdered,” Geno said. “Great new Reebok slogan: HI, I’M SIDNEY CROSBY, AND I KILL PEOPLE SO I DON’T HAVE TO TELL MY FATHER I LOVE COCK. And you—” Geno looked in the rearview mirror and threw a hand back to almost reach Alex’s face. “NIKE: JUST DO IT, AND BY IT, I MEAN FUCKING KILL PEOPLE.” 

Nicky was still awake, lying across the backseat with his head in Alex’s lap. If he was angry about the attempted murder earlier, or that the love of his life had been blackmailed into becoming a literal assassin and almost gotten him killed, for once Nicky didn’t show it. 

It could have also been sheer exhaustion from the poison and the antidote and the subsequent vomiting, but Sid didn’t want to commit to any one read on Nicky just yet. 

“Zhenya, are you finished yelling?” Nicky asked. 

“No,” Geno said. “I’m never done, fucking never. You think I let these IDIOTS forget the time they almost killed us?”

“What do we do next, Zhenya?” Nicky asked. “How do we kill the Commissioner?”

“Oh, you want to murder people, too?” Geno asked. “Am I the only one who has gone their whole life without committing murder?”

“I understand,” Nicky said. “But do you think he’d let you get away? Any of us?”

Geno drove and fumed silently. 

“Fuck everyone in this car,” Geno said. “I love and I hate _everyone_ in this car. Right now, hate mostly. Fuck _everyone_ in this car.”

Geno took the sharpest killer U-turn in the middle of the highway, turning their world into shrieking tires and the smell of burning rubber as they began the trip back to Pittsburgh. 

*

“All your plans are stupid,” Zhenya said fifteen minutes later. “Nicky, you’re smart. Do better.”

“I don’t know,” Nicky said. “I don’t know how to find him. Hardest part is finding him, and we can’t find him, can’t do anything until we find him.” 

“What? _That’s_ your problem? Sid, my phone, open Twitter,” Zhenya said. 

“That’s the bird, right?”

Zhenya pulled over on the shoulder with a sharp screech of tires. “Sid, you drive and you do exactly what I say.”

Sid unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out. “You’re so bossy, Geno.”

“FUCK YOU,” Zhenya yelled. They both stalked out of the car and met at the front, neither of them willing to let the other pass until Zhenya jabbed a hand hard into Sid’s shoulder. “YES, I AM BOSS OF YOU NOW BECAUSE YOU TOO STUPID TO LIVE BY YOURSELF.” 

Alex, stroking Nicky’s hair in the backseat, watched with interest. 

“They sound like they’re going to kiss,” Nicky mumbled. “How did we all get so fucked up?”

“What did you do?” Alex asked. “You were fine, Nicky. This is our fault, me and Sid.”

“All these years, this asshole tortured you, made you think that—that if you didn’t do what he said, everyone would leave you,” Nicky said. “How could I be with you and not see that?”

Alex sighed. “Really bad killer, really good actor.”

“Don’t do that to me again,” Nicky said. “I’m going to kill someone for you, Sasha. The least you could do is talk to me sometimes.” 

“Oh, Nicky.” 

He looked to the front again and Nicky was right—Zhenya pulled Sid into a fierce kiss at the front of the car, untucking his loser shirt and gripping him hard until Zhenya broke the kiss and shoved Sid aside. “FUCKING DRIVE,” Zhenya yelled. “WE’LL FUCK LATER. I AM STILL ANGRY.” Zhenya climbed into the car and they both buckled up their seat belts. He turned around in the seat and looked at Alex and Nicky. “Neither of you say _shit_ unless it’s a plan.”

“I wasn’t even thinking of shit,” Alex said.

“What did I JUST SAY, Sasha.” 

“And what’s your plan, you and your phone—”

“No one here uses Twitter!” Zhenya yelled. “You two idiots, talking about how mysterious the Commissioner is, how no one knows where he’ll be, oh he’s so scary—but hockey fans know him, hockey fans see him and take pictures with him, and if you open Twitter and search _NHL commissioner_ , oh look.” Zhenya turned around in the passenger seat and held up his phone for Alex. “Looks like some people saw him having lunch around the NHL offices in downtown Pittsburgh, almost like he was in Pittsburgh to hassle Sidney Crosby to murder a little faster!” Zhenya faced forward again and flicked Sid’s arm, hard. “See? Phones are good sometimes.”

“I can look on Instagram,” Alex suggested.

“Yes, that is a plan, look on there, too, and we can find him now that we are close to downtown.”

“And what then?” Nicky asked. “How do we—”

“Uh, look in the third row,” Sid interrupted. “That bag I brought? It’s—we have some options.”

Nicky pushed himself to sit up and reach for the bag in the third row. 

“Oh,” Nicky said. “Yeah. These are a lot of options. We could probably get rid of all of Pittsburgh with these options.”

“That’s not on the fucking menu, _Nick_ ,” Sid replied. 

“Neither was attempted murder but we’re improvising, _Sidney_.” 

*

Zhenya’s plan for Sid’s Weekend Friendcation/All My Friends are Murderers Except Nicklas Backstrom Who Might Not Even Be My Friend was going… okay.

As they arrived in downtown Pittsburgh again, the last _OMIGOD I MET THE NHL COMMISSIONER???_ post on either Twitter or Instagram was only five minutes old, and right there in the lobby of the NHL offices that was open to people. It was entirely possible that the four of them were lured into a trap, but if Alex “I was bored my first season in America and wrote a strength conditioning thesis to earn an advanced degree back in Russia” Ovechkin couldn’t figure out how to track people, there was a pretty okay chance that the Commissioner was powerful and smug enough that he didn’t give a shit if people found him or not.

Then again, it was entirely possible that Sid and Alex were actually completely brainwashed and the trap he had set for the Commissioner was actually a trap for himself and for Nicky. He wanted to think it didn’t matter—that if the people he loved best in the world turned around and proceeded to kill him in the Pittsburgh office of the Commissioner, that maybe he _should_ die, because a life without them wasn’t worth living and all that nonsense.

Except: it _was_ nonsense.

Zhenya had given up too much and lived scared too long to let this be the end. He was prepared, if it came down to it, to fight back. He would drag Nicky out of there and leave Sid and Alex behind, if that was what it took to survive. Living with someone, loving someone who had a manipulative puppet master at the kill switch was probably very exciting for some people, but Zhenya wasn’t one of them. 

In any case, Alex and Sid had now entered the Commissioner’s office and pushed Zhenya and Nicky to their knees at the doorway. The Commissioner was there, and a little surprised to see them, but he seemed pleased. 

“You brought me a show,” said the Commissioner. “That’s very thoughtful of you. How long have you known about each other?”

“Not long. Not until now,” Sid said. “But look, you know us. All of us. Alex and I have to do this together, or we won’t do it at all.”

“Sasha, please, what’s going on?” Nicky pleaded in his very best needling whine. 

Alex had been quiet as he entered the room and made Nicky kneel on the floor, but they all heard him say, “I’m sorry, Nicky.” He sighed and cocked the gun in his hand.

Zhenya shook his head fervently, knowing the Russian bear thing was expected of him. “Fuck you,” he said to Alex before he turned to Sid. “And fuck you, too. Good luck winning _shit_ without me.” 

The Commissioner sat back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “I’ve never actually had a chance to see you two in action like this. Go on, then. Let’s see some of that famous sportsmanship.”

Sid and Alex left either side of the Commissioner’s desk, coming as close to Zhenya and Nicky as they could with their guns pointed at their heads. Nicky’s pleading was a little too intense for Zhenya’s taste, but Zhenya bowed his head as Sid clicked the safety back on. Zhenya tried not to smile as the grenade Alex had dropped under the Commissioner’s desk went off and blew out the windows and the Commissioner into the bright and beautiful Pittsburgh afternoon. 


	4. Chapter 4

When the reports broke out of a “terror attack” in downtown Pittsburgh at the NHL Commissioner’s office, Nicky and Alex and Zhenya and Sid were in a private hospital. The four of them were in various states of fucked up but Alex, because he was a goddamn machine, was the first to hop up on crutches the day after they arrived. He had been the one who almost killed Zhenya, the one who almost let Nicky die, but he was the one who shielded Nicky from the blast, who dragged them from the wreckage of the Commissioner’s office, who found the freight elevator that got them out of the building.

There was more after that, but Nicky couldn’t remember. He remembered waking up in a hospital, and he remembered Alex practically skipping around the room on crutches until he noticed Nicky was awake. 

“What the shit,” Nicky asked. “You’re walking?”

“You’re awake!” Alex said as he came over. “Look, I have crutches! And barely a scratch on me! Haha, kidding, I _only_ have scratches on me. Scratches _everywhere_.”

“How is that—”

“You need to speak up,” Alex shouted. “We have tinnitus from the blast and it’s hard reading your lips! You never articulate properly, Nicky, unless you’re swearing.”

“Fuck you,” Nicky properly articulated. 

“Good, you’re better,” Alex beamed. “How do you feel?”

“How do I feel? Like you set off a grenade in an office and smothered me into a carpet.”

“You do remember! You were so brave. You yelled at the pilot—”

“What pilot?”

“...Nicky. You chartered a private plane to get us from Pittsburgh to Newark.”

“I did what?”

“And we’re leaving for Stockholm as soon as Sid can be clear to fly.”

“We’re in _New Jersey_? We’re going to _Sweden_?”

Alex was watching Nicky carefully while also doing some interesting acrobatics on his crutches, testing weight on the cast around one of his ankles and making himself wince as he thought of how to respond to Nicky.

“Your plan made a lot of sense in the cab.”

“What _cab_?” Nicky shook his head and regretted it immediately. “It’s fine, I—fine. We’re in Newark, we’re going to Stockholm. Are we also wanted for murder?”

“No, of course not,” Alex scoffed. “Random act of terrorism because Pittsburgh almost dropped into a wild card slot in the Metro. So much more believable that someone would blow up the Commissioner’s office because they hate the new playoff format. Everyone’s talking about it. It’s definitely the playoffs’ fault. And Pittsburgh’s fault.” 

“And Zhenya? Sid? Where—”

Alex nodded to one side. “Next door. Sid _doesn’t_ have a concussion but Zhenya does have terrible burns on his ankles and feet because he’s too fucking long.” 

“...and you’re fine?” Nicky asked. 

Alex shrugged. “I was awake a lot the first night while they picked things out of my skin and did x-rays every five minutes to make sure I wasn’t going to get three hundred kinds of infections and sepsis, but they think it’s okay now. And I sprained my ankle running into a freight elevator while we—you really don’t remember any of this?”

“Now’s a good time to tell me the last three days were an elaborate prank, Sasha.” 

“Please,” Alex scoffed. “You think I can wait _three days_ for you to laugh at a prank?” 

“I’m tired,” Nicky said. “I guess wake me up when we’re in Stockholm.” 

“Do you remember that I secretly killed people for the Commissioner?” Alex asked.

“Yes, I fucking remember that.”

“Okay,” Alex nodded. “Do you still love me?”

Nicky sighed. “Yes.”

“Okay. Okay, good.”

“I’ll love you more if you steal me chocolate pudding.”

Alex went over to his bed and returned with two chocolate pudding packs, one in Nicky’s hand and one on his bedside table. “Go back to sleep while I steal a few more.”

“And check on Zhenya and Sid. Check on those two.”

“I’ll check on their pudding situation,” Alex promised. 

Nicky settled back into bed and closed his eyes. As he nodded off, he heard a commotion from the next room and the very distinctive sound of someone yelling, in Russian, “SASHA! COME BACK HERE! THAT’S FOR SID!” 

Going back to sleep, Nicky decided, was an excellent plan, of which he had so many.

*

Kuzya, Marcus, and Andre came to visit over the All-Star break. It had been eight months since everything had happened, four months into the season they were missing. 

“Tom would have come, too, but he’s an All-Star this year, him and Osh,” Andre complained as he died on the couch in their living room. “This house is nice. Is it yours? Why do you never let me stay here for the summer? I would have asked if I knew you had a house downtown.”

“Just a rental,” Nicky said. “How are things?”

The three visitors were sitting on the couch across from Nicky and Alex, exchanging glances before and after every question like they were nervous to ask anything. At Nicky’s question, Kuzy looked at Alex and made a jerk-off motion. “Who gives a shit? We play hockey and we’re fine. What the _shit_ happened to all of you?”

“They said it was terrorism and you probably had tons of plastic surgery,” Marcus added. “Because your faces melted in the explosion.” 

“The three of us Skyped last month,” Nicky said, motioning to the two of them and Andre.

“I didn’t say _I_ believed them,” Marcus replied, but the way he glanced at the edges of Nicky’s face clearly hinted otherwise. 

Andre stepped on Jojo’s foot and then asked, “Are Sidney Crosby and Malkin really living here with you?”

“Yes.”

“ _Why_?”

“Because.”

“Are _they_ the ones with the terrible scars?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Can you remind us of normal life, please? No one’s faces melted.”

“Your life _is_ normal life,” Kuzy replied. “Or didn’t you know?”

Alex shrugged. “Fine, it’s normal, so what? Tell us about hockey.”

“Don’t you get NHL Network here?” Andre asked.

“We prefer not to,” Nicky said. 

“Oh, _well_ , you missed my first NHL hat trick, Papa,” Andre huffed. 

“No I didn’t. You sent me links.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t _watch it_ ,” Andre said. “Whatever, okay, let’s tell you about the super exciting hockey season where I scored a hat trick. Oh, Brooks and Kuz and Osh have the A’s while you’re gone.” 

“They make me talk every day, Sasha,” Kuzy whined. “After practice, after games, every night I have to talk to those assholes.”

“Your English is better,” Nicky said.

“I know, I hate it,” Kuzy said. “Going to talk with a cowboy accent when we’re back and see if anyone notices.”

The conversation flowed around Alex, the four of them earnestly discussing the new configuration of the team, the Hershey players who had made the final roster. Alex couldn’t stop thinking about what Kuzya had said— _your life is normal_ —because he wondered if it was true. It had felt normal before, in Washington, with glaring exceptions like committing first degree murder and having no one question him or his motives. 

Alex was about to call it boring, these days in Sweden when he woke up without an alarm, Nicky dozing next to him, their legs tangled together under the sheets. His days and nights were filled with appointments seeing doctors and specialists and therapists and trainers, loud noises making him flinch, occasional maddening bouts of tinnitus like the grenade had just gone off again. He shared a house with Zhenya and Sid, who had their own room down the hall and spent a _lot_ of time cooking and baking for lack of anything else to do. 

Nicky planned long bike trips for him and Alex to give Zhenya and Sid the house to themselves. They rode bikes, read books, walked around the city, and trained with Nicky’s favorite offseason trainer. They argued about how much they missed hockey and their teammates, and how fucking _bored_ they were in Sweden when they thought about it for too long. 

They were normal and boring and Alex wasn’t sure how to put that into Russian or English or any words at all. 

“I like it,” Alex interrupted. 

“You like the mumps?” Marcus asked. Of course they had moved onto the thirtieth outbreak of mumps around the league while Alex wasn’t listening.

“No, no,” Alex said. “I like—this. I like Stockholm. I like it here.” He looked over and took Nicky’s hand, linking their fingers together. “We should stay through the season. Maybe next summer, too.”

“I fucking knew it,” Kuzy said. “It’s the health care, isn’t it? Everyone said it’s amazing here.”

“No, it’s—”

“Maybe we should all move here and join the SHL,” Marcus said.

“Hey, I didn’t say I was ready to fucking cut off my own legs and never skate again,” Kuzy replied. “I said get the whole team to move to Sweden in the offseason because maybe cryotherapy is free.”

“It’s… really not…” Nicky said. He looked to Alex, baffled. “Do you want to—”

“No, I don’t want to join the SHL or explain government-funded health care to these idiots,” Alex said. “But you look cute when you’re confused.”

“Shut up,” Nicky said as he blushed. “They’re your idiots, too.” 

“We idiots flew twelve hours to be here,” Andre protested. “When are we going out to have lunch? Dinner? You have to feed us and tell us you missed us.”

“Andre,” Nicky sighed. “Why would I lie to you like that?”

“This is why I left Sweden,” Andre said. “Everyone is too mean, they think their sense of humor is _so_ fucking funny.”

“He’s mad he’s not the baby on the team anymore,” Kuzy added. “We get Andre a kid’s menu at every team dinner now, so he knows he’s always our baby, no matter what.”

In the midst of all the racket, Alex stood up and tugged on Nicky’s hand; where they went, the team would follow.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/screamlet) \+ [tumblr](http://screamlet.tumblr.com/post/159912823676/)


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